


There's No Accounting for Taste

by anno_Hreog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat of Voldemort, Severus Snape, Potion Master at Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, has been voted Most Eligible Wizard for the third year running. </p><p>Harry Potter can't believe how gullible everyone's being, when it should be clear that that hook-nosed, greasy-haired bastard is no dark, brooding, sexy hero with a tragic past and a broken heart that needs only the love of a good witch to set him right. </p><p>And Harry Potter's set out to prove it, for the good of the wizarding world. Even if it means having to seduce the git himself. Er...</p><p> </p><p>[Written in 2005, pre-<i>Half Blood Prince</i>, where canon could still imagine a happily ever after with Snape innit.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Accounting for Taste

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Written in 2005 before _Half Blood Prince_ came out.
> 
> 2) So yeah, imagine defeating Voldemort happened with no major character deaths, sometime in Year 6, and our happy heroes are back at Hogwarts to piddle away their youths and education in Year 7.
> 
> 3) Oh, and Remus lives too. He's still at Hogwarts. What the hell, just ignore all of canon. Whatever.
> 
> 4) Ah, willful innocence.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that a single wizard in possession of a bad-boy reputation, must be in want of a saucy witch.

 _Witch Weekly_ certainly thought so. 

And every witch in England fancied herself as saucy.

Severus Snape scowled down his hooked nose from the cover, and _Witch Weekly_ received a record number of thank-you letters from adoring witches of all ages all over England. _The Galleonaire_ reported a sudden rise in overseas subscriptions, especially the notable spike in Greece, and attributed this to Snape’s _third_ appearance on the front of that glossy publication this year. And the recipes, of course. Turtle soup was a big hit.

Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class.

Wearing nothing but… well, his usual black robes buttoned all the way up to his neck. But black was quintessentially wizard. And bad. And covering up always left more to the imagination. And imagining each little button, unbuttoned, one by one. And the severe cut of that _stiff_ collar emphasized his rugged, masculine jaw. There were fanwitches gathering bi-weekly for the sole discussion of how perfectly his neck met his jawline.

The stylist had somehow managed to turn his greasy, stringy black hair into the epitome of dirty, messy grunge. And the five o’clock shadow accented the impeccable cheekbones.

“’ _I had to cross my legs and shiver as the war hero and Hogwarts Potions Master’s deep, dry, bedroom voice promised unspeakable acts, the perverse thrills he’s watched in Death Eater orgies. And he will make you behave, yes, you naughty witch…._ ’ Who the _FUCK_ WRITES THESE THINGS?!!”

“Harry! Language!” Hermione tut-tutted at him, but was then distracted by the cover of that despised magazine. Snape was sneering at them - nothing out of the ordinary - but he seemed different. Shiny and new. And famous. And… 

“Bedroom voice, Hermione?!” Harry, obviously, wasn’t finished. “Isn’t that bedroom EYES?! Oh! Not that - oh, no, she didn’t miss THAT, either! Listen, listen to this: ‘ _Dark, hooded, onyx_ ’ - ONYX?! – ‘ _eyes mirror his unspeakable past, the hero’s soul tormented by crimes committed for the sake of the light_.’ CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? Hermione?! What a load of utter BULLSH-”

“Harry, Harry! Calm down,” Hermione grabbed the magazine and quickly tossed it to Lavendar Brown who squealed. A sudden gaggle of sixth and seventh years gathered around her to pore over the spread.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!” Harry kicked at the bench across him. Fortunately, most of Gryffindor house knew to keep out of his way by now. “It’s like HE’S the HERO… . Not that I’m… . But sodding… . Why’s _he_ \- ? SHIT.” 

Ginny Weasley patted his arm in sympathy and smirked across the Hall at Draco Malfoy who’d been showing off his good profile at the Gryffindor table for the better part of dinner. He stopped and glowered at her. Harry barely noticed.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice patient. She’d really wanted to read the rest of the article. “We all know you’re the hero.”

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. Her teeth rattled.

“It’s not as if all those grown witches can latch onto you, you know,” Hermione continued. Ginny shook her head just as emphatically as she’d nodded. What a thought. “You’re only seventeen. That would be _wrong_ ,” Hermione concluded. 

“But they didn’t think twice about PRINTING ALL THOSE AWFUL – ” Harry got to his feet. Malfoy was distractedly pouring salt onto his strawberries and cream, staring at Harry all the while. 

“Harry, Harry!” Hermione and Ginny pulled him down. Ginny didn’t let go of his arm immediately. Malfoy’s face was turning pink.

“You don’t _want_ to be in all those magazines, do you?” Hermione asked.

“No… but…” Harry stabbed his fork into the spotted dick and mashed it into tiny crumbly bits. “Why should SNAPE get all the credit? Why is everyone all over him? _HIM?!_ ”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know they need someone for magazine covers, Harry. And you’re too young. It’s a sign of respect, Harry. They’re leaving you be –”

“Until you’re old enough to perve on…” 

“Ginny!” Harry looked appalled at that. 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Ginny shrugged. 

“See, Harry?” Hermione tried to bring them back to the point. “And Professor Dumbledore is too old. Professor Flitwick is too… well… old _and_ short. And Mr. Weasley’s married… and not, well…”

“Well, what, guys?” Ron trudged in, muddy and smelling of sweat. “Harry, mate, you missed Quidditch practice.”

“Harry’s been upset over all those witches going ga-ga over Snape…” Ginny explained. Harry turned to look at her suspiciously. She wasn’t teasing, was she?

“Oh, that,” Ron threw the _Sunday Prophet_ on the table. “Look, he’s having dinner with Kylie Minogue. She’s _hot_.”

Hermione glared at him. Ginny was staring at Kylie in the picture, crossing and uncrossing her legs and giggling at a dour-faced Snape. 

“That’s IT! This is the final straw, Hermione!” Harry fumed at the paper. 

“What can you do, mate? S’not as if you can –” Ron reached over to serve himself a quarter of pumpkin pie.

“I… I….” Harry stared at the paper. Snape. Witches. Just unfair. Not that he wanted a gaggle of witches following him around. Everyone in Gryffindor house, and a good portion of Hogwarts knew the Boy-who-REALLY-Defeated-Voldemort was an equal opportunity snogger. He was noble that way.

Harry sat up. “That’s IT!” His eyes were glinting and both Hermione and Ginny backed away. Ron steadily ate away at his pie. 

“I’ll make him GAY,” Harry said. “I’ll seduce him. That’s it. That’ll stop all those witches.” He was humming with magical energy now. Draco Malfoy was gazing at him, mesmerized, from the Slytherin table. 

“No, Harry, I don’t think - ” Ginny Weasley started, but Harry wasn’t listening to her.

“It’ll embarrass the hell out of him.” Harry smirked at the paper. Kylie was scowling at him. He ignored her, and stared at Snape in the picture, who ignored him.

“But, Harry - ” Ron had dropped his fork. Hermione seemed at a loss for words. She had to recover, for her friend, for the good of the world.

“What about _you_ , Harry?” Hermione tried to reason with him. “Do you even _want_ -”

Snape was leaning over to talk to Madame Hooch at the staff table, and Madame Hooch giggled and stroked his wrist. Harry glared at the sight then at the picture of Snape and Kylie Minogue.

Harry’s eyes were resolute. The very picture of the determined boy-hero. 

“This is it, Hermione, Ron,” he said. “I have to seduce him. For the good of wizarding kind. For the sake of innocent witches everywhere.”

 

*

 

_You expect me to account for opinions, which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged._

 

“Another biscuit Severus?” Lupin offered Snape a battered tin. Molly insisted on sending him biscuits every week. He had barely settled into his old rooms at Hogwarts and already he had two tins of biscuits and a fruitcake that smelled of brandy. He was rummaging around his cupboard for plates.

Snape selected two and dipped one in his tea. “Mmm….” He mumbled with a full mouth. “Ethelbertha puts too much butter in hers. Leaves grease all over my fingers.” He scowled.

“Your new lady friend?” Lupin raised an eyebrow.

“We had dinner,” Snape glowered at him. “That is all.”

“Well, well, quite a social life you have there, Severus.” Lupin decided the chipped blue plate wouldn’t do. He had a few that were good around in the back, he was sure.

“Hmmmph…” Snape didn’t wait for Lupin and poured himself another cup of tea.

“And the hero business-”

“Speaking of heroes,” Snape slammed his cup down on the rickety coffee table. Tea splashed over his hand, but he waved it at Lupin, regardless. Lupin blinked at the sudden onslaught of tea. “Your infernal godson - ”

“You mean Harry?” Lupin asked. “He’s not my – ”

“He’s gone around the bend, Lupin,” Snape snarled at him. “He’s making _eyes_ at me. In Potions class.”

“He’s being disrespectful, then?” Lupin moved the teacup carefully out of the way.

“ _Eyes_ , Lupin!” Snape kept waving his hands. “Fluttering his lashes and some sort of nonsense!”

“He’s not just paying attention?”

“Not to the Potions, he isn’t!”

“Severus, calm down.” Lupin patted his arm. “I’m sure Harry is trying to give Potions his full –”

“Well, make him stop.” Snape slouched down in the battered blue armchair.

“Stop paying attention in class?”

“Paying attention to _me_.”

“Now, Severus…” Lupin’s hand hadn’t left Snape’s arm. Snape hadn’t noticed.

 

*

 

_It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others._

 

For Harry Potter, seven years of loathing the nasty old bat in Potions, he decided, gave him an edge over those silly witches who were determined to throw their lives away. 

For one thing, he _knew_ Snape. He knew how he deducted points – unfairly! – how he sneered at Hermione’s perfect potions, how he gave Crabbe or Goyle house-points just for dragging Malfoy in to eat breakfast, how he wrinkled his oversized nose in distaste every time he looked at Harry’s cauldron. Harry knew the exact flick of his skinny wrist and the exact tone of derision in his voice as he muttered _evanesco_ over passable brews.

And now, with a little help from his reluctant friends, he would follow every move that greasy git was going to make. And stop him.

“Ginny! Shh…” he hissed. “And he can see you. Stand back a little.” He and Hermione would take the offensive. She could always be counted on to make up questions. Ginny could stay hidden in the alcove and take notes.

Snape was currently chatting up a shapely witch in low-cut, dark red robes. He nodded sharply at a little girl with mousy brown pigtails, a first-year Slytherin, and the girl ran into the house common rooms. Parents! He was preying on his student’s mothers! Thank Merlin, Harry was taking matters into his own hands!

“Professor Snape?” He poked Snape’s back, and Snape whirled around at him. The witch tittered behind her hand.

“Potter. What do you want?” Snape clearly didn’t want to waste any time on Harry.

“I was wondering about the last Potions assignment, _Professor_. Do we add the murtlap after the bicorn? And would substituting hensbane for acromantula produce the desired results, even if the color came out lime green instead of purple? And – ”

“Potter,” Snape interrupted him. His eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. “Go. Look. It. Up.”

“But Professor,” Harry persisted. Hermione was tugging at his robes. She didn’t want to be any part of his bogus academic questions. It made her look stupid. The witch in red looked bored. 

“And what about the essay on 'Potions: Myth or Hoax?' I’m sure that I read somewhere that you could make an edible invisibility potion instead of sprinkling it into –” 

“Potter!” Snape was livid, now. Hermione looked mortified. 

“Well, Severus, maybe some other time.” The witch was wandering off.

Mission accomplished. Snape stared at her retreating back and turned to Harry in disbelief. Harry tried to keep the grin off his face, but wasn’t very successful. He wasn’t trying that hard.

“Potter! What was that about?” Snape demanded.

Harry smiled beatifically. “Oh, nothing, _Professor_ ,” he fluttered his lashes. “I just wanted to be the _best_ student you’ve ever _had_.” He winked too, for good measure.

That shade of green on Snape’s face surely wasn’t healthy for him. Matched his house colors, though. 

Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him down the corridor before _her_ face burst into flames. Ginny jumped out of the hidden alcove and ran after them flapping her notes. Harry had almost forgotten all about her.

“Buh-bye~ _Professor_ ,” Harry waved at him as he stumbled to follow Hermione’s furious pace. Snape was still gaping at them as they turned the corner.

 

*

 

_It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides._

 

“So, that’s Lydia, Hazel, Pomphilia, and Maud. Good.” Harry crossed out the names from a pad. “We still have to find a way to - ”

“Harry,” Hermione started. Ginny was painting her toes pink. 

“We’re driving the competition away, but how to get him to notice – ”

“Harry!” Hermione grabbed the notepad out of his hands. “Don’t you think you’ve gone too far? It’s not as if you _really_ want – ”

“What? Of course I do! And it’s for a good cause, Hermione!” 

“But, Harry –”

“I think I need a good long detention. Yeah, that’s it!” Harry’s eyes were getting that look again. “That means I have make something loud and smelly explode in Potions. Yeah!”

“Harry –”

Harry turned to look at her, confused. Then his eyes widened. “No, not you, too. Hermione! Don’t tell me you’re in love with Snape!” 

Ginny looked revolted. Hermione’s face was in her hands.

Just as Ron stomped into the common room. “Who’s in love with Snape?” he asked. The boy was always a dirty sweaty Quidditch mess these days. 

“Hermione!” Harry and Ginny yelled out together. Hermione just groaned into her hands.

“Not that nonsense again,” Ron threw himself on the red striped armchair in front of the fireplace. “Harry, mate. You have to snap out of this.” He ripped open a chocolate frog packet and stuffed it whole in his mouth.

“We’ll help you, Hermione. I’ll do this for you, too.” Harry peered at her face and his mouth dropped in horror. “He was staring at your breasts, wasn’t he? That last time we cornered him?”

Hermione decided she’d wear her palms on her face until Harry graduated. Ron smirked.

“You can’t come with me anymore!” Harry said, his mind made up. “You’re not safe.”

Hermione looked up. No. Anything was better than letting Harry go off on his own. “No, Harry, I’ll go with you! You can’t –”

But Harry was shaking his head. “You have to keep away from him now. Ron?”

Ron shook both hands in front of him. “Keep me out of this. Harry, you’re my best mate, but really, you’re right bonkers.” He rifled around in his pockets for another chocolate frog. “Why don’t you come to a good manly game of Quidditch. Get your head on straight?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the hint. He’d have to face Snape alone now.

 

*

 

_Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material._

 

Snape was snarling as he packed his grading for the night into his bag. He couldn’t sit in his cozy office and grade there, sipping at a nice snifter of brandy. Or take a break when Lupin came over with biscuits and tea. 

Oh, no. Harry Potter, unsung boy-hero decided to make a spectacular mess in Potions and land himself in detention.

Draco was flipping through a magazine in his office. He was folding the corners in. 

“Stupid, careless, attention- seeking _Gryffindor_ and his stupid, mindless sense of entitlement, idiotic boy, doesn’t know when to add the murtlap, when I warned them a _dozen_ times –” Snape muttered under his breath. Draco looked up. 

“Do you want me to distract Potter for you?” he asked eagerly. The boy thought wearing a lightning bolt t-shirt was being subtle. “I can supervise his detention.”

Snape stopped to consider that. Punish Potter without punishing himself? There was a certain elegance in that solution. 

“I can do it. I’ll lie back and think of Slytherin.” The boy’s eyes were glazing over again.

“What?” Snape dropped his bag to look at him.

“I meant, sit back, sit back. You know. Sit on Potter. No, no, on his detention. It’s for discipline. Oh!-” Draco covered his mouth with his hands. Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Discipline! Oh!” The boy squeaked and ran out of his office.

 

*

 

_It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first._

 

“Never again, Lupin! Never again!”

“More tea, Severus? A chocolate biscuit?” 

Snape’s fist stopped midway from pounding the coffee table. “Oh, well, don’t mind if I do.” He munched away, distracted for the moment.

“Harry was a handful?” Lupin brushed at the scattering of crumbs on Snape’s lap. Snape almost choked on his biscuit. “Just that… it’s so… so messy.” Lupin had no shame.

“Now, you’ve turned into quite the domestic one,” Snape snorted. “Tea and sympathy and tidiness.”

“Well, I always try to make things comfortable,” Lupin murmured. “But, Harry was –?”

“Oh, that ridiculous boy,” Snape reached for the teapot, but Lupin stayed his hand and poured it for him. “Thank you. Winking and nodding, and squirming in his seat. Made me dizzy to be in that classroom for the whole hour.” He bit savagely into his biscuit at the memory. “I think, the foolish child has a crush on me.”

“Oh?”

“First the winking, then he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs every half minute. Do boys cross their legs?” 

Lupin shook his head.

“Thought not. And licking his lips,” Snape rolled his eyes at the memory. “I do hope he’s chapped for the rest of the week.”

“But you fended off his advances, then?” Lupin asked.

“If they can be called such.” 

“Good.”

“Of course. He’s a student.”

“And a boy?”

“What does that-?”

“And you don’t like boys?”

“Of _course_ not.” Snape slammed his cup down and stared at Lupin. “ _He_ is a _student_. I thought we were clear about that in… the last. Ten. Seconds?”

“Of course, of course, Severus, no, no, students, yes, off limits, of course…” Lupin fiddled around the biscuit tin. They’d eaten all the chocolate-dipped ones. “And of course, you’re so popular with the witches now, and, of course… of course not…”

“Though,” Snape thought deserved a little reward after supervising Potter’s detention. “He _is_ a rather good-looking boy, come to think of it.” He rubbed his chin as if he’d hit upon the most remarkable idea. “Quite striking. Pretty green eyes,” He smiled around the rim of his cup “Like a girl’s.”

He sat back to enjoy the sight of Lupin choking on his dry biscuit. The chocolate bit always smoothed the throat. Poor werewolf. He poured himself a generous amount of brandy instead.

 

*

 

_There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me._

 

“No, no, no, no…”

Ron had tried playing Quidditch. He had to stop after Madame Pomfrey warned him she wouldn’t heal his bleeding calluses every day. He tried eating more pie. That was a bad idea, especially after he had to stop practicing his Quidditch moves for five hours a day.

He’d spread out his chess set in the common room to tempt Harry with a game. Harry was too distracted and paid him no notice. He’d even considered grabbing and kissing the tosser, just to keep him grounded. If he liked boys, or girls, or boys and girls, or hamsters, Ron could deal with that. He’d be there for his friend.

But his friend had made it past the slippery staircase leading to the girls’ dorm and was planning out atrocities with his sister and their best friend. And there were places a bloke just couldn’t follow his best mate.

If he had a head start he could run up the slanted stairs and get in. And Ron thanked his long hours flying as he jumped the last stretch and tumbled into the girls’ dorm. Just in time to see…

His best friend, the boy hero of the wizarding world (though, as of yet, neither covered nor uncovered by the popular press), the Lion of Gryffindor, and youngest seeker in a century, checking out how the pleats in Hermione’s school skirt fell into place when he twirled around.

And he wished he hadn’t made it up the stairs.

“That might work, Harry,” Ginny was saying. Mum would have to talk to that girl. Hermione’s face seemed stuck on her palms these days. 

“I think so, yeah. This is it.” Harry nodded. 

“Why, Harry, _why?_ ” Ron found his tongue and it felt like he’d licked the carpet in the boys’ dorm for a week. 

“Well, it was Hermione’s suggestion really - ” Ginny piped up.

“No, no, no, no…” Hermione’s bushy brown head was moaning.

“But you’re right, Hermione.” Harry was trying on a pair of grey patterned knee-socks. “Snape isn’t going to respond to me as a… a… a _lover_ -” Hermione groaned again. Ron wished he’d gone deaf as a child. “- unless I’m a girl first. He needs a transition.”

Ginny’s eyes were glazing over. Ron thought she and Draco Malfoy looked like donut icing half the time. 

“It’s brilliant, Harry!” she clapped her hands, eyes roaming up from the awkward lines of his legs – she’d helped him shave for this – and knobby knees, to the crisp pleats of the schoolgirl’s skirt. “Harry, Harry in a skirt, Harry’s like a girl, and bam! Harry as boyfriend material!”

Ron needed a glass of water. “Why?” he croaked.

“I think what he means is,” Hermione’s face still hadn’t made it out of her hands. “Why go on with this, Harry? You’ve lost house points, served detention – and it’s not even with Snape anymore, you say? – spied on him, stalked him after every class, asking the _most inane_ Potions questions… for _what_ , Harry? What?”

Harry looked at Hermione’s head for a long while and sighed as he sat down next to her. Ginny scrambled up to join them.

“I… I don’t know, anymore,” he whispered. 

Ron looked up at this. “Ah hah!”

“But,” Harry continued. “But… I can’t let him win. I just can’t. Can’t tell you why, anymore.”

“But, will _you_ be winning if he doesn’t, Harry?” Ron asked. He could do the strategy questions. Chess, people, yes.

Harry looked down at his skirt and smoothed out the folds. “I… I don’t know. But, I want to.” He sighed. “No one’s ever wanted me before…”

“Harry, that’s not _true_!” Ginny gasped. Hermione’s face finally emerged from the cup of hands to listen to him.

“No, I know,” he smiled at them. “I have friends, you guys. It’s just that, it was all a joke, you know? At first? But now… I really don’t know. I just think that… that if I can get him to really look at me, see _me_ , instead of this boy he hates, it’s like… I don’t know… the world really getting past the nonsense and seeing me, you know? The Dursleys finally getting it that I’m a person, too. Snape acknowledging me. I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione and Ginny sighed.

“He already doesn’t like me much, but if can make him _want_ me… then… I don’t know what I’m trying to prove….” He shook his head.

“We’ll help you, Harry!” Ginny sniffed, and Hermione pulled him into a hug.

Ron looked at the three sitting on Hermione’s bed and blinked.

“Oh, for the love of - What a load of bollocks! Harry, no!”

 

*

 

_Everybody likes to go their own way - to choose their own time and manner of devotion._

 

The corridors on the third floor were never lit at night. The portraits claimed they needed their sleep and refused any mention of torches. 

Snape loathed making the rounds at midnight, but Filch had him in a bind. He’d supervise Potter’s detentions if Snape walked the halls for a week. And Snape didn’t trust that Malfoy brat not to get up to some irreparable mischief, beg as he might to _sit_ Potter’s detentions.

Nothing ever happened in the castle at night. Really. He should talk to Albus about these ridiculous drains on his time. He saw a light ahead, quickly extinguished. A light from a wand.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he uttered and then wished he hadn’t.

The boy was leaning against the stone wall. He was wearing his school cloak. And make up? His lips certainly looked pink and shiny. Snape swallowed a groan. 

“Potter,” he growled. “What are you doing wandering the corridors at night?”

“I’m not wandering,” the boy answered smoothly. He was smirking. Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d probably need that for later.

Potter sauntered over to him and smiled. Slowly. He shouldn’t look like that. And Potter was blatantly intruding into his personal space.

“Strutting around this school as if you owned it.” Snape muttered. His mouth felt dry. “Just like - ” he had to stop catch his breath as Potter played with his school tie and loosened it. “ – just like… your… your fa… father.” He finished lamely.

“My dad, eh?” Potter smiled again. Snape couldn’t stop staring at the way Potter unbuttoned his two top shirt buttons. It was the night. Or the corridor. The replay of this ridiculous scene from four years ago. And he needed a good night’s sleep. Alone. Those witches were wearing him out.

“You think a lot about my dad?” Potter was only inches away. “About him. Strutting? You like that? _Professor_? The thought," Potter planted a hand in the middle of Snape’s heavy black robes. “Of. Me.” His fingers walked the row of black buttons. “Strutting?” And wandered over his chest. “Just like my father?” He tapped his fingers over Snape’s heart and Snape remembered to breathe. “Is that your fantasy? Would you like that?” He looked up at Snape and his green eyes – his _pretty girl’s_ eyes – were dilated. And glazed over. Like that brat Malfoy’s was, staring at the Gryffindor table at breakfast. Snape snapped out of his daze. Ridiculous children.

“Potter, you will return to your dormitory at once!” 

“Is that what you want me to do?” the insolent boy asked. “And I’d appreciate it if you lowered your wand.” He unclasped his robes and teased at the folds. “I’m shy, you know.” He looked up at Snape from under his lashes and pulled aside his robes to reveal grey knee socks, and knees, and a skirt. A little grey schoolgirl’s skirt riding high on his thighs. No. Lean boy’s thighs. And he was a student and… 

“Potter,” Snape started, but Potter stepped closer. He trailed a finger downwards, down the row of black buttons. He was getting a cardigan after this.

“Do you like it?” Potter whispered. “Do you like the skirt? I can be anything. Everything, you know.” Potter smiled at him again, his shy, flirtatious smile. His child’s smile. “Anything anyone expects me to be… expects me to do…” 

His hand traced a lazy circle around Snape’s middle, brushing just over his… . 

“Do you want me to turn out my pockets?” Potter leaned in. “Shall I turn out your pockets?” His voice crawled through the air, low and insistent, and his hand was trailing lower and lower… “Isn’t that what you want? Your nose in my business? Your _abnormally large_ nose in my business?”

Potter’s hand closed over his groin and he had to stop this, tell the boy to behave – no, no, not that kind of discipline – but the hand was rubbing in slow maddening circles, and the boy was close against him.

“I can do things, things you can only dream of.” Potter was no longer Potter, but some kind of green-eyed demon. A crazed incubus. “Flexible, you know. Reflexes and responses you can’t imagine. I can ride you till you’re dizzy and desperate and fizzing over. I can drive you over the edge and back. You know you want - ”

“Harry!”

The hall was awash with white from another brightly lit wand and the portraits were grumbling aloud.

“Put out that light!”

“Harry!” 

They jumped away from each other to see Remus Lupin strolling down the hall. Potter clutched his robes about him tightly.

“Severus, making your rounds?” Lupin asked, his voice amiable and not a little tight. “And Harry, out of bed again? Growing boy needs his rest.” He moved over to push Harry down the corridor.

Snape tried to catch his breath. It was too warm in the castle. And his collar was too tight.

“Maybe I…” he cleared his throat. “I should take Potter back to his –” he tried again.

“No, no, Severus,” Lupin interrupted. Potter was struggling to get out of Lupin’s friendly grip. “No need to go out of your way.”

Lupin was steering Potter toward the Gryffindor dormitories. Potter strained to look over his shoulder at him, pleading with his eyes. His pretty, green, lustful, girl’s eyes.

“I’ll stop by for a chat with you, _later_ , Severus.” Lupin looked at him sternly.

 

*

 

_We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be._

 

“What were you -?” Lupin sputtered.

“Maybe I should go check the Gryffindors –” Snape rasped, staring down at the worn carpet in his office. 

“They’re all safe where they are,” Lupin interrupted back. “As are you.”

Snape was still breathing heavily, his head between his knees. He should have… he’d had time enough to… to take _care of himself_ , while Lupin was tucking Potter into bed. 

Oh, Merlin. The image. Potter and his dimpled knees. In bed. He had to get out there.

“Maybe I’ll go finish my rounds now. I still have – ”

“Severus,” Lupin pushed him down in his seat. Hmmm. That felt nice. “Think about it. You’ll regret this.”

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll enjoy myself for once. Maybe – ”

“No, no, no, Severus,” Lupin was frantic and rambling on. “Boy. He’s a boy. You don’t like boys, all those Quidditch toned muscles, no, too athletic and.…” 

Snape could see lean, hard, boy's legs, wrapped around him, body twisted into impossible positions and... . He really had to remember to breathe.

“That sort of difference doesn’t matter. Not anymore,” he growled. His brain was off and running with all sorts of _possibilities_.

“Would make James Potter roll over in his grave, if I took up with his son.” His eyes were glittering, he was sure. “His _underage_ son. Fitting, wouldn’t you say?” 

Why was he having this conversation? Why did he need this blasted werewolf’s permission? He leapt up and reached for the door, but Lupin pounced on him.

“No, no! James would love it! He would!” Lupin was babbling, pulling on both his sleeves. “Karmic circle, coming together. Spirit of good will and reconciliation, he’d say.” 

Lupin tugged him away from the door, hands all over his arms, his back.

“Besides, that would make you his son-in law.”

Snape stopped shock still at that and shivered. Revolting. Then he remembered Potter in his short skirt, riding up those creamy white thighs. Those _Quidditch trained_ thighs. He lunged for the door again.

And Lupin grabbed him, and the world came to an end.

Or should have.

As Lupin’s lips crushed his, and Lupin’s tongue was in his mouth, and the werewolf sucked at his tongue, hard enough to be a Dementor because he could have sworn he felt a piece of his soul rise out of him.

 

*

 

_There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere._

 

“’ _\- and the most famous werewolf in England, the esteemed Prof. Remus J. Lupin, poured us all another cup of tea, as the tall, dark, and sexy Potions Master leaned back in his chair. And quite frankly, this witch has to admit a bit of a crush, really –_ ’ Have you READ this, Hermione? THIS?!” Harry threw the current issue of _Witch Weekly_ on the Gryffindor table and slumped into his seat.

Ginny hmm-hmmed in sympathy and Hermione sighed as Parvati snatched the magazine. Another group of girls gathered around and practically _cooed_ at the shot of what was now proclaimed “The Hottest Couple in the Wizarding World.”

Harry buried his head in his arms and mumbled. “And after all that careful priming and prep, he just _snatched_ him out of my… ”

Draco Malfoy was grinning over at the Gryffindor table again, and Ginny scowled at him.

“Well,” Hermione nodded at Ron who was drawing out a new Quidditch schedule. “I hope you learned your lesson, Harry.”

“Mmm…” The nest of black hair made a sound against the table.

“Impure motives, Harry, and with a teacher and…”

Harry’s head shot up, and a swirl of magic leaked around the Gryffindor table. Malfoy was on his feet now, ready to rush over.

“That’s IT, Hermione. The last straw,” Harry fumed. “I give up. I GIVE UP. I’m swearing off men, boys, the whole stinking lot of them!”

“Yes!” Ginny Weasley’s fist shot into the air and she grinned as Crabbe and Goyle tried to keep Malfoy from drowning himself in the rice pudding.

Up at the staff table, Remus J. Lupin smiled and poured another cup of tea for Severus Snape, who snorted and blew his still greasy, black hair out of his face.

He was wearing a brown argyle pattern cardigan.


End file.
